Parents Just Know
by Disco Shop Girl
Summary: Eleanor is unobservant, not stupid. And Chuck Bass slinking out of her apartment every evening is not something she can ignore. It's time for she and Bart to assert their parental authority, starting with some discipline over dinner at the Waldorfs.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Set during Season 1, this was partially inspired by reading (and being incredibly frustrated by) _The Luxe _series. I've incorporated a few of my favourite characters from those books, but you don't need to have read them.**

Eleanor Waldorf was unobservant. It was a defence mechanism – her life had become far too complicated in recent years, since she'd been abandoned to face humiliation alone. Harold, the little weasel, had escaped to France and nicely avoided becoming a pariah from New York's upper crust. Of course he'd helpfully stuck around long enough to drag the centuries old Waldorf name through the mud and destroy the reputation of those who still bore it. She should have known he was a no-hoper when she married him, and now the passage of twenty years meant she couldn't even reclaim her Astor heritage and leave his disgrace behind her like she wanted to. Then there was her child to think about, poor Blair carried no Astor in her name, only the tainted paternal line.

Eleanor therefore had to be determined. You weren't bred from twelve generations of New York elite without beauty, brains and sly brawn. She took what she had – her fashion house – and made sure it was equipped to save the remaining Waldorfs. _Eleanor Waldorf Designs_ would stand on its own, claim the name back as a brand until this scandal was forgotten, and people thought success when they heard the name Waldorf. She was absolutely resolute, and in this quest the growing business consumed her creative and emotional attentions to the point where she forgot the other remaining Waldorf whose fate depended on her success.

If the business fell apart then Eleanor's life fell apart. When she had a few minutes to think about something else she would ensure there was a demand on her attention, like a soiree that required meticulous planning. The crux of her plan was to stay away from the happy home she'd once shared with her best friend, the one who had also played her husband. Dorota was promoted from nanny as she'd shown herself a competent housekeeper and Blair was no longer a child. The Polish maid now ran the opulent apartment on Park quite competently.

Eleanor was glad she could at least afford the luxury of staying away. She wondered how her grandmother had coped, freshly married off from the Jones family in the midst of the Great Depression.

Sinking back into the seat of her town car, she thought about that woman she was descended from. Eight decades ago Diana, the youngest daughter of Louisa Jones had impulsively wed the least suitable of all her beaux. Eleanor smiled, remembering the early pictures of the dashing but penniless Henry, her grandfather. At that stage in the century his father's excesses had left him with little of worth beyond the family name. The New York legend still stood that the Jones-Astor pair had been merely tolerated by society at the outset of their marriage. Diana was pitied for choosing a fiancé so below her expectations, Henry for falling so far he was almost middle class. But together they'd recovered the fortune and more, so that each of their three living children was bequeathed more wealth than the Astor family had seen since their arrival in the colony.

Eleanor wanted to emulate her. Somehow that woman had kept her dignity, head held high and run her first household with practically nothing. Then she'd helped her husband build an empire. Forty years later Eleanor could still picture them in later life when she'd known them, at the desk in Mamére's study, both in their reading glasses and poring over the big account keeping books. Mamére always sat in Grandpapa's lap when they did that. Eleanor didn't know how she'd had the drive to accomplish it all.

It was all Eleanor could do to keep her gaze averted from the ruin of her life.

But there was ruin, and there was _ruin. _She could avoid seeing many things, but it was extremely difficult to avert her gaze from Chuck Bass's limousine pulling up to the kerb. Again. The third day in a row to be exact. She'd seen him leaving her building, still in his slightly mussed school uniform, every night this week.

And the shame of her failed marriage was sneaking up into her vision from where she pretended not to see it.

Eleanor watched him, Bass the younger, embarrassment personified, saunter out of her building. Most of Manhattan and beyond knew of his out of control lifestyle. Nate Archibald in contrast was descended from Vanderbilts and though still young, had the decorum and good manners of that respectable family. Nate was polite and entertained Blair, he looked wonderful in a tux.

And as she watched Chuck pull out his phone to send a text message, she realised that Nate had not been over since the fateful night of the Captain's arrest. She briefly closed her eyes, knowing her reaction to that event had probably played a part in his current absence, but alas it couldn't be helped. The public embarrassment the Archibald family had caused _Eleanor Waldorf Designs_ still resonated. But she acknowledged that Blair's future was important too, and once she got over the brief hurt of the hit her company by association had taken, she felt a little ashamed that she hadn't continued to push for that respectable relationship between her daughter and Nate.

Chuck sent the message, then turned to look towards their apartment windows, grinning devilishly. Eleanor had tried to ascribe Blair's uncharacteristically chirpy mood since Thanksgiving with her return to therapy. But even Eleanor couldn't see him do _that, _couldn't see Chuck Bass coming over after school everyday then disappearing just before she returned home from the atelier, as a coincidence.

Eleanor Waldorf was unobservant – not stupid.

Unlike her seventeen-year-old daughter who clearly had no idea what she was doing.

"A moment," she halted her driver as he moved to get out of her town car. "Circle the block a few times, there's a phone call I need to make before I go upstairs."

The driver didn't ask questions. He was like coachmen and ladies maids in generations passed, always present but part of the background – silent and obedient. The car pulled out into the slow peak hour traffic again and she gazed out the window. The first lap around their block, she simply mused. The driver did not question her instructions and she could hear the clicking of the indicator as they passed the front door yet again and kept going. The second lap, she pulled her phone from her handbag and scrolled through the contacts. Among them was a business tycoon she'd called a friend for quite a number of years now.

Mamére would have had kittens to know her Eleanor had befriended first-generation money. Diana had chosen her husband for love, which was very clear in their later years when mutual happiness still abounded on the sprawling family estate. But Diana choosing for love still chose an Astor. She smiled as she fondly remembered a childhood scolding from the matriarch on associating with middle-class upstarts and golddiggers. And the way her grandfather had snuck up behind his lecturing wife with a finger pressed to his lips.

He'd captured the reigning Mrs. Astor and made her squeal and laugh like a teenager as he lifted her into the air, squeezing her slim waist tightly. At the time six-year-old Eleanor hadn't really understood the mock-scolding her grandmother then received in turn from a very affectionate grandpapa. But when she'd grown she'd discovered the truth and found it all slightly romantic in her teenage years. The fact that the Astors were all but broke when Grandpapa reached his majority, and only through his slaving hard work and coaxing of new money backing had he remade a fortune in wartime that restored them to their rightful place among the social elite.

Grandpapa would have gladly associated with the Basses. And despite her lecture to young Eleanor, in reality Mamére had done everything to make her grandpapa happy.

A voice greeted her on the phone and she pulled herself away from that happy childhood memory.

"Bart, darling, it's Eleanor Waldorf," she greeted, a fond smile of remembrance touching her face.


	2. Chapter 2

Bart Bass had lived a hard life. He'd been very hopeful in his early twenties when his blend of charm and personality with an aptitude for numbers had started to show themselves as valuable assets. He'd barely had time to attend his graduation from college, so demanding was his growing business. One of the only things he _had _found time for was to linger at his lover's side for the birth of their child.

His eyes flicked across his desk to the most recent photo he had of the boy – half a decade old at least. The day he first held his son he'd been in raptures. After it dwindled to the two of them was when he'd truly thrown himself into work. Looking at that picture of a smiling, sporadically-toothed seven year old and knowing how he'd failed him so completely made Bart feel hopeless.

He hated feeling hopeless.

For that reason, he couldn't stand fluff and mediocrity, the pretences of social niceties. But then again, he moved in the world of big business and that meant dealing with old money on their terms, so he stomached their excesses. Which made it odd that he always found Eleanor Waldorf entertaining. She went all out for her soirees, over the top to the point of comedy. The appearance of a goat at her last Moroccan themed evening had made him genuinely laugh with mirth. She played the socialite as well as any woman he knew. He could see though, that she ran a very successful business that hadn't been handed to her, and wasn't just coasting through her charmed life. She'd built that emporium from the ground up and managed to slip slide through the scorn of her ugly public divorce. He respected her as a businesswoman who could recognise her weaknesses but be selfish in the process. And on top of all that she could be entertaining.

So for the past fifteen years he had therefore counted her as a friend. If they didn't have that history, if he didn't know how shrewd her mind was, he would have flat out laughed at the premise for her phone call this afternoon.

As it was he stared at that framed photo of an innocent boy on his desk, mentally compared it to the surly teenager of today, and couldn't believe her. It was true he didn't overly coddle his son but a Private Investigator or two kept him up to date on the boy's doings so he knew one thing for absolute sure. Chuck did not enjoy relationships. In his sixteen years he had women to warm his bed and a handful of boys in his class to laud over. Apart from that there was a small clutch of what he considered the boy's actual friends: – Nathaniel, the human equivalent of Chuck's pet dog; Serena, female equivalent of Chuck who would attend any party thrown; and Blair Waldorf to irritate his nerves and join him in devious dealings.

The diminutive brunette in no way suited Chuck's type for bedding – she wasn't easy, compliant, or for hire. He sincerely doubted Chuck could be bothered to go to the effort. And he doubted Blair, who was only taken out by the respectable Nate Archibald, would suddenly come about face and get involved in a dalliance with his son.

Bart knew Eleanor though. That perfectly balanced business mind in her old money upbringing. She had plans for her daughter that involved business or congress, the decision hadn't been made yet but he'd heard her speaking of it. If there were an ounce of doubt about Chuck she never would have risked Blair's reputation and come to Bart for help. Especially after the scandal that was her husband's departure from the island of Manhattan.

This made him incredibly curious. He thought he knew everything there was to know about Chuck. Andrew Tyler was very good and kept frequent reports on the teenager's antics arriving in his inbox. So could it really be true that his heir was getting mixed up with one of society's most demanding princesses?

He took another look at the aged picture of the boy that had been left in his care, and propelled himself to his feet. Private Investigators kept him up with the necessary details but if this was for real, if a disaster of this proportion really did loom on the horizon, then it needed to be averted before it occurred. No damage control would be enough. It was the only thing that coaxed him out of his grand third floor office before 6pm on a weeknight.

For the first time in five months he ascended in the Palace elevator to the eighteenth floor and made for the suite adjoining his own. It was real concern for his son that made him want to confirm that, as astute as Eleanor could be, this time she'd called it wrong.

He may have been a bad father since he brought Chuck home from the hospital but in this case he knew exactly what to do.

He was already rolling his eyes as he pulled his key from his pocket, assuring himself this was ridiculous. His son had surely come home after school hours ago, just like he did every day. That's what he was going to find when he went in there. Probably some of the room service staff too but such was the burden of a son who didn't yet understand the importance of maintaining a line between business and pleasure.

"Chuck?" he called, letting himself into the suite and looking around determinedly.

He owned this suite and everything in it. There were no qualms about invading a teenager's privacy. There was a growing horror though, when he received no response from his sole heir. Bart searched the empty set of rooms, finding them devoid of their single inhabitant. Or any women he may be stashing.

Bart's eyes narrowed. Tonight, he was intent on getting to the bottom of this situation so the preposterous notion didn't linger his conscience. He could afford to wait. Determinedly he moved to his son's bar and poured himself a scotch, settling on the couch to wait with that cold patience which became sharper every minute that ticked past. Half an hour passed before the door opened and Chuck casually sauntered in. Perfectly timed to have left the Waldorf's when Eleanor claimed she had seen him. With a very happy, self-satisfied grin on his face and more than his usual coy smugness about him.

Bart's eyes narrowed and he got to his feet. This was _not _good.

"Father," Chuck greeted, clearly surprised to see him but unable to suppress that ridiculous grin. All he could do was bite his lip to try and temper it.

For god's sake he looked like a freshly deflowered virgin in love.

"Go change. We're going out to dinner," Bart instructed coolly, barely able to keep his temper.

Chuck looked at him questioningly, but didn't make a peep of protest. He just dropped his school bag at the door, and disappeared into his closet.

Oh Bart did not like this at _all_.


	3. Chapter 3

Blair caught sight of the dining table on her way through and doubled back, immediately suspicious.

The good china was out. Her flower arrangement had been topped up with fresh white lisianthus. They were beautiful, but unnecessary for a weeknight dinner with just her and her mother. Where she barely ate and Eleanor barely noticed she was there.

"Are we expecting company?" she curiously watched Dorota placing crystal water goblets.

No response came, of course. Unless she was causing Eleanor trouble there was never any answer. She had to walk back into the living room and repeat the question to her distracted mother.

"Yes yes," Eleanor brushed her off.

She had her glasses on. They were like the shield against Blair's presence, screaming 'don't disturb me, I'm _reading_'. Well bad luck. Because she had homework and school to worry about and dinner guests required adequate warning so she could adjust her schedule accordingly. She had to study, and if she'd known she had to allot more than the standard twenty minutes for dinner, she would not have spent the afternoon upstairs with Chuck.

A small smile crept up onto her lips. Well, she would have spent _less _of the afternoon upstairs with Chuck.

"Who?" Blair prompted.

It was too late to back out of attending now so she may as well just get it over with. Should she change? Who would be coming over on a school night? Laurel, maybe. A model or two. It was always important to display her best self to the world, her mother had driven that home. Protect your reputation above everything. She tugged at her shirt shamedly. Unless the dinner guest was Dorota, she'd best go upstairs and put on something else. Something that Chuck Bass hadn't been sliding his eager hand under.

"Just an old friend, don't distract me now, I'm working," Eleanor waved her off.

I'm working. How she hated those words. Daddy had never told her to go away because he was working. But then Daddy had stopped working and gone away altogether.

"Go do your homework or – something," the hand which now only sported her grandmother's heirloom ring fluttered in Blair's direction, indicating her daughter should go away and leave her alone.

The elevator sounded and that single mechanical ding was apparently plenty to draw her attention from her precious paperwork. Blair didn't say a word and tried not to look spiteful. She knew her mother had been bitten by the Archibald's fall from grace, linked in a way that even Blair wasn't and she was the one in a relationship. Now Eleanor was having a difficult time trying to tie down contracts for her public launch. It was why Blair was trying not to antagonize her.

There was still a bit of bitterness though, it would be nice to be told when they were having guests. When she would have to rearrange her day and bite her tongue and look perfect for another two hours of the tiring day. Now she didn't even have time to change and would be thinking about how Chuck delighted in the drawn out unwrapping of his package, _this _package, licking her stockings while he removed her shorts.

Her mother brushed past her and Blair jumped, shaking away the thought of Chuck and Chuck's naughty tongue and Chuck's dirty mouth and vowed not to think of him again this evening.

It was the "Bart, how lovely to see you," that made Blair's heart suddenly slam against her chest.

"Oh no," she quietly whimpered.

Her mother moved aside and she saw Bart Bass kissing each of her made-up cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly sent a prayer out into the heavens. Then she tilted her head to the left and looked beyond Bart. His hot but nervous looking son stepped off the elevator for the second time this afternoon. Chuck's moves were jerky, which if you knew him meant he was mentally off-balance and trying to hide it.

"Oh no," Blair desperately repeated to herself.

"And Charles," Eleanor wasn't exactly cold, but there was a tone in her voice that reeked of disapproval. Her high-pitched voice rang out across the apartment. "Let Dorota take your coats."

The order was just that and as Eleanor linked her arm through Bart's, she took the time to spare Chuck a speculative glare.

"What can I offer you to drink, Bart? Wine?"

Blair's eyes flew to Chuck's in utter panic. Their parents seemed nonchalant as they casually moved to the cellar by the kitchen, apparently to make a wine selection. He was watching his father walk away with the same horrified look in his eyes. Then his gaze turned on her. The calm, cool, collected womaniser she had been allowing to touch her for some weeks now looked terrified. The caramel darkness of the eyes she quite enjoyed staring into widened perceptibly until all there was to see was black. He sunk his white teeth into his lip. His plump, dark red, perfect lip that felt ridiculously good when she had her shirt off and he was – No! Parents! Bad Blair!

Bad Blair's body for wanting him all over her again!

She hurriedly turned her gaze back to her mother's voice, hoping she hadn't been caught in her lusting after the devious boy. Luckily only the backs of Eleanor and Bart could be seen as they stood at the entrance to the wine room, surveying the ordered racks.

Chuck's reluctance was clear as he handed Dorota his coat. The maid narrowed her killer Polish glare at him, the one that said 'You only left here an hour ago and don't think I don't know what you were doing up in Miss Blair's room'.

Tonight was going to be a disaster. All Blair could hope was that her maid kept her mouth shut as she seemed to have done thus far. She shot a warning glance at Dorota implying her loyalty was to her younger charge, not the mother, and she'd damn well better remember that.

Chuck missed the subtle maid/heiress interaction. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he only had eyes for Blair. And when she looked back to him, they communicated perfectly across the expanse of the apartment without a single spoken word. Chuck lifted a questioning eyebrow to ask if she knew what this was about. Blair shook her head slightly, touching her lip in unspoken signal. He immediately released his bottom lip from his teeth. Trying to hide the outward signs of his nervousness.

For a moment Blair got distracted surveying him. The physical had never been important with Nate, in fact they barely made out by the end, all that mattered was that he was nice, and polite, and looked good on her arm. _Chuck _had changed into an impeccably tailored suit since he left her room earlier in the evening. He got her blood pumping in his school uniform, but he was downright edible in a suit.

So much that the shy, well-hidden secret of her blushing teenage nipples tingled beneath her top, until they were rigid and beggingly hard. She desperately wanted to cover her chest so he couldn't see. Or cover his chest – with kisses.

Nate wore whatever he was told. Chuck _got _fashion. And that got her going.

When he did things like watch the path of his fingers as they reverently trailed down her arm, she pretended real hard she was just using him for sex. But that didn't explain the undeniable physical attraction swelling right now inside her. She was fully aware of his hungry gaze silently devouring her in return. She was mentally undressing him, already her hand was loosening his belt, eager to feel just a little lower, to have him back in the state he was an hour ago when she had him beneath her, rough and masculine and begging.

He was hot when he begged.

He was almost doing it now. Looking at her with those _please fuck me _eyes. It made her want to drag him upstairs and press into his burning body. What she wouldn't give to sit on top of him, slowly rocking back and forth in what could crassly be described as dry-humping, while those confident hands slid up her thighs.

Their parents interrupted the intense eye-fucking. A ginger ale for each of them was placed on the coffee table and twin looks of disgust were followed by bashful grins when they acknowledged the mirrored reactions. As if they were ever innocent enough to be content drinking ginger ale. Their parents conveniently chose to sit together on one lounge, sharing polite chitchat. Blair and Chuck were therefore pretending to be unaffected by each other when they took their place side-by-side on the chaise lounge.

Her hand twitched, eager to reach out that short distance and touch him. After all the leg of his pinstripe suit was inches away and they were never this close without actually being together anymore. The only thing keeping her from him was the propriety that had been instilled in her from birth. Because her hands wanted to run along silky hardness and her mouth wanted to taste and she certainly didn't want to keep herself from him.

At Eleanor's behest Bart turned to admire the newly refinished piano. That distraction gave them a few brief seconds. Chuck took the opportunity first and brushed his fingers over her lower back. She shivered helplessly, her body practically arching because his touch was laden with absolute promise that she already knew he could live up to.

The anticipation lit a fire in her belly only to be denied further kindling when he drew his fingers away. The smooth move went unnoticed by their parents.

Dear Lord, how was she going to survive through an entire dinner when all she wanted to do was undress him and feel him inside her?


	4. Chapter 4

Blair looked effing hot. He clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, trying to restrain himself. He wanted to lean over and tell her that. In fact he wanted to be _leaning_ over her, in her bed upstairs, while he told her that. He wanted to be telling her while his mouth was beneath her curls on the nape of her neck, nibbling, and she was arching helplessly beneath him. While her hands were caressing his upper arms and her knee was digging into his hips.

He'd never imagined that sex with Blair would be so phenomenal.

When they started this before Thanksgiving he'd managed to come upon her in weak moments and coax amazing whole nights out of her. He had redefined his concept of marathon. Then damn school had started up again, no skin off his back but Blair loved to plan things. It was part of her charm, until he discovered he was one of the things that she intended to plan. Now he was allotted exactly two hours every afternoon and god knows how he'd gotten to this place where he agreed to such a ridiculous arrangement like a _boyfriend_. All he wanted was to enjoy every passionate minute she allowed him. Which in the current timetable gave him from the end of school until five twenty pm and that was it. The first day he'd assumed she was joking or at the worst that he could convince her otherwise – what women would be content with only two hours of Chuck Bass?

As it turned out, Blair Waldorf.

He could tell she always wanted more, she was like him after all. But it was as if there was a digital clock in her brain, linked to that atomic clock keeping Greenwich Mean Time. Blair removed his hands, handed him his clothes and kicked him out at five twenty every day so she could start her study time and make him want to scream.

It was _never_ his choice to leave. Blair, naked and resplendent in her post-sex glory, was oddly chatty yet affectionate as they relaxed in her sumptuous bed afterwards. He loved savouring the taste of her with long, languid kisses while they plotted or argued and Marie Antoinette looked on disapprovingly. It was nothing he'd ever experienced before. And two hours was not _nearly _enough. Earlier this afternoon he'd managed to get away with pressing her up against her door and kissing her for an extra fifteen minutes before she could drag herself away.

His hands still tingled with the memory of how perfectly her waist fit into each of his palms.

Obviously he'd put a bad vibe out into the universe. He'd been desperately craving more time but karma had come back to bite him on the ass because he definitely had _not _craved more time like this. Why in the hell would he want to find his way into the one situation where he couldn't surreptitiously arouse her? This was _torture_! Geez even if Nathaniel was nearby he would have found ways to whisper in her ear or stroke his hungry gaze all over her tight curves and spectacular fingers and evil eyes. Instead he was undoubtedly frustrated, which was exacerbated by the fact that he didn't know everything. He didn't understand why Eleanor had asked them over for dinner. Or when this was planned. Since when did he and his father make social calls together?

The feeling of not knowing where all the pieces lay on the board was worrying his analytical mind.

"Dinner is ready."

Dorota made the announcement just in time. His veneer was cracking with Blair so close and so unobtainable. Eleanor stood and they were ushered to the dining room. She and Bart immediately sat together on one side of the table and Chuck's brow crinkled suspiciously. What the hell was going on? Was his father doing both Lily Van der Woodsen _and _Eleanor Waldorf? It was entirely possible, why else would they be so friendly all of a sudden?

When Blair took her usual place at the immaculate table he realized that only left him the chair by his lover's side. That analytical part of his mind that would have found this entirely too convenient was suddenly shut down as blood got diverted to skin and sensation and the possibility of _Blair_. He stopped wondering about his father and her mother and eagerly took up the seat vacant for him, with all its attendant perks. Like the fact that Blair's foot immediately slipped free of her sexy heel and rubbed the top of his foot temptingly. And that beneath the cover of the table, his hand immediately sought then found her familiar supple thigh. Silky and bare above her thigh high stockings. He traced the top of the lace disapprovingly – why had she put them back on when mere hours ago he'd so strenuously worked to remove them?

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath and instead got a head full of her perfume. It took everything he had not to lean into her neck and take a deeper, more satisfying breath right from the source. Then taste the rich flavour on his tongue and savour it in his mouth.

She was – amazing. He'd been her friend for literally years and hit on her countless times but he'd never actually expected her to respond. How stupid he'd been, to assume that cool exterior went all the way through. Now he knew about the hot lingerie beneath her prim dresses and the fire beneath her staid society façade. There was no going back for him. No way to stop himself desiring her. It was all he could fantasise about, all he could _think _about. He usually left here satisfied and got home with just enough self-control to make it to the shower before he needed to sink his dick into his palm and remember her sweet torture.

Tonight he hadn't done that, his father had been waiting. He had never been so close to losing control before.

Dorota placed soup bowls in front of them and Chuck caught the nasty glare directed square at him. He waited until she turned to serve Eleanor and quickly leaned over.

"If any one is going to crack here, my money's on the maid," he whispered into Blair's ear.

Blair was implacable above the table, not even blinking to show she'd heard his words. While below her toes had wormed beneath his hem and were now stroking around his ankle. Her front was faultless and he admired her ability to look absolutely innocent. He also felt a little proud for having released such a minx, realising that the chemical explosion in the limo that first night had been some freak occurrence. How else could someone go from virgin to karma sutra queen so quickly?

The pointed "Thank you," Blair gave Dorota made it clear she was uncomfortable with the maid's third degree.

Chuck took his soup spoon in the correct hand, carefully ladled the thick liquid away from him and lifted it to his lips without spilling a drop. He was arrogant, not ill-bred. The same couldn't be said for his father. The teenagers had barely taken one mouthful when his father got to the point. Just like Bart Bass – the barest social niceties (had they even been here ten minutes yet?) and then straight to business.

"You two are going to stop it."

Blair's toes were rubbing against his shin, delightfully stimulating. He was wondering if her foot would climb all the way up into his lap and pondering if she was flexible enough to do it. Until those words came out of his father's mouth, then she seized up completely and the soft curling of her toes did too. To be fair the hand he was using to slowly caress her inner thigh froze as well. His teasing flew completely out of his mind as he tried to comprehend his father's words.

Stop what?

"Yes, let's be done with this. _Discreetly_. Before anyone finds out," Eleanor looked at her daughter pointedly.

Chuck was confused and cautiously looked back and forth between the two adults. He

scowled as it clicked that somehow they knew what he and Blair had been doing to each other. They disapproved, that much was evident. He didn't care what Bart's reason was, he'd lived his life with one of the most selfish fathers on the planet after all. But it stung that Eleanor didn't want him with Blair. What possible reason could there be, considering that their parents were clearly friends and his personal wealth greatly outstripped that of any of his classmates? The only thing he could think of was one particular prejudice he'd come up against before.

Eleanor didn't think he was good enough for Blair. She wanted the _Nates _of this world to be with her daughter. A _perfect gentleman_. A public fop who could politely smile and impress his elders while Blair's fire went unstoked. He slid his hand further up Blair's spectacular thigh, almost into her underwear, just to prove that he was _more _than qualified to be with this immaculate society princess. Nate had never come close to doing what Chuck did to her. And he never would – he didn't have the guts.

He caught his father's judging blue eyes on him, cold as freshly hewn steel. With that one look, his fragile heart fell. The knowing disgust was plain to read in those judgmental irises of ice. Like he knew where Chuck's pinkie was resting, why Blair was almost panting at his side, and that he hadn't expected any better from the constant screw up that was his son.

"I –" Blair tried to rescue the situation, to say something. Anything would do right now but she was clearly too stunned to get beyond that first pronoun.

So he took charge, like he always did.

"Done with what?" he asked innocently, playing the naïve card. It worked surprisingly often in his experience. Even his best friend hadn't yet figured out that Blair's sheets were hideously rumpled from their daily tumbles and getting more so as time went on.

Then again naivety worked on the Archibalds of this world. Not the sharp Basses or calculating Waldorfs.

"Done with _this_," his father emphasised in that no-nonsense tone which pretty much defined the way he always spoke to Chuck. "I wanted you to commit to _something _Chuck. School, business, a job. Not a _relationship_."


	5. Chapter 5

Eleanor didn't quite agree with the term 'relationship'. Blair lived in a fantasy world to some extent and that was fine most of the time. Crafting masquerades and trying to garner her boyfriend's attention were perfectly legitimate distractions from her studies. She suspected this thing with Chuck was driven by raging hormones and little else.

Then again, there was a chequered history of hormones being overwhelming in their family, leading to much more permanent arrangements. Henry Astor the Fifth, Eleanor's oldest uncle, had been born exactly six and a half months after his parent's marriage. Eleanor had seen with her own eyes the newspaper announcement that declared him a very loved honeymoon baby.

She'd also been there at her uncle's fortieth birthday. Her grandpapa had loudly guffawed that he fathered the largest, most-full-term looking baby ever ejected from a womb before the seven-month mark. Seven-year-old Eleanor had not quite understood the tittering that filled the room and looked about at the party guests confusedly. Mamére had pinched Grandpapa, her modest cheeks flushing in utter embarrassment before the assembled crowd of glitterati. But Grandpapa – Henry Astor the Fourth – his hands had publicly wandered Diana Astor's slim figure long after she'd given birth to that heir and society had become immune to forty years of their unhidden caresses. It was no secret he still pleasured her in her bed at night. The rumour that he had done so before they had a bed to call their own was no surprise to anyone forty years on.

Chuck Bass was not a stayer. Blair would _not _be subsumed into the Bass family because she let her hormones run wild for a season and inadvertently trapped herself. Eleanor would make sure of it.

What she fully supported was the overt disgust Bart put into his pronouncement that would make it clear to their children. The mogul had plans to groom Chuck for a place in his company. There was no way the Bass heir could dedicate time to commitment for a woman if he wanted to be like his father. It would have been possible seventy years ago to live a life with both, but the world had changed and successful men no longer had the time to properly love their women. She'd learned that first hand.

Blair would not be the one left behind, doing all the relationship work and letting her own life go to waste.

Eleanor had even loftier goals for her daughter. To be free of the whispers and stares that abounded at every fashion show and every cocktail party her mother attended. To keep her high and mighty and judge the models, rather than be judged by them. To be a Diana Astor who rescued the family name from ruin, and not a Harold Waldorf who brought about its fall.

Their family had sustained quite enough ill-judgement to last them a few lifetimes. And even a whisper that she'd been with Chuck Bass would make Blair into a Serena Van Der Woodsen of this world – hoping to attend Brown like the brainless dropout she was and aspiring to one day buy a Soho loft.

"We're not in a _relationship,_" Blair vehemently protested, the word laced with as much disgust as Bart had intoned.

Eleanor rolled her eyes, not wanting to discuss the clearly physical bonds the two were exploring, but not liking Blair's innocent act either.

"Oh please," she rejected, reaching for her wine glass. "I have _seen _Charles leaving this apartment looking dishevelled three evenings in a row. Are you telling me it's a coincidence that Dorota is suddenly remaking your bed with fresh sheets every day?"

Blair screwed up her face in disgust. Good. Make her think about how she would like that dirty laundry aired in much larger company and let her consider the consequences. She had to drive home to her daughter just how much this inappropriate relationship would ruin her already precarious reputation. It wasn't her fault her father was a whore but she had to live with the consequences he had delivered to them all.

"It's not what you think," Charles inexpertly tried to dodge.

Eleanor glared at the boy, thinking that Bart really needed to guide him more clearly if he was ever going to move into a world where business deals hinged on the subtlety of a few choice words.

The father at this table levelled his only son with a glare and harshly vetoed the interjection. "With you it's always exactly what I think. I bought you that club with plenty of available women. Go there if you need company."

Yes she'd heard about his burlesque club. Further evidence that her daughter and what was left of her good name should stay well clear of the corrupting hedonist.

"What would your friends think of this?" Eleanor stressed to Blair, bringing on her part of the double-team. "I doubt Nate would be very fond of his ex-girlfriend and his best friend sneaking around. In _my _apartment."

Blair was going to be a Vanderbilt. And while Nate Archibald's branch no longer carried the family name, she'd started to think that the shame of the Captain's disgrace might prompt Nate to adopt his mother's prestigious name. Blair was smart, and could be incredibly driven. In the Vanderbilt clan she could move into an already established political machine and really do something with her life.

Instead of gallivanting around town with New York's most badly parented sixteen year old and losing her own good name in the process.

Not every bad boy could be rescued and made to settle down. Unfortunately Eleanor worried that it might be in Blair's DNA to think she should try. Exploits from Grandpapa's wild youth lay hidden in microfilmed newspaper pages at the New York Public Library. She knew, because on a rainy Saturday in prep school she'd slipped down there to sneak a peak, only to blush in disbelief at the reported acts of her grandfather's youth.

Then they'd cleaned out Mamére's apartments after her death, and it became clear that the matron of society's taste hadn't so much tamed the bad boy as channelled all his creative efforts into their well-used marriage bed. If the boxes of props weren't enough of a hint then the very explicit love letters he'd written her spelled his longing out word for hedonistic word.

She saw Chuck's suit fabric twitch slightly and turned her pointed glare on him.

"You can remove your hand from my daughter's leg," she instructed.

Both young people looked immediately guilty and she saw Chuck's arm move, slowly withdrawing. Eleanor was satisfied that they might be getting somewhere and looked back to Blair, only to watch her disobedient daughter clutch his upper arm and hold it still.

"No," she bit out harshly.

"Don't take that tone with me," Eleanor was affronted.

Maybe some harsher parenting needed to be happening here too. She was utterly ashamed that it had gotten this far, that her daughter had taken up with this scoundrel. Who was now going to ruin her. Bart was a friend but _honestly_. He was the worst parent the Upper East Side had seen in decades. He needed to get control of his rebellious son before it hurt Bass Industries as well. She couldn't help but notice the pinstriped arm returning to an angle that meant his lecherous hand was on Blair's leg.

Disobedient teenagers!

"If I want him to touch me then I'll have him touch me," Blair snapped back.

Her arm wound around Charles and encouraged the playboy to keep his hand far too intimately on her leg.

Eleanor swallowed harshly. No good could come of this. Grandpapa had been poor in the beginning but within society's constraints he had maintained his reputation flawlessly – it was what allowed him to convince Diana's mother he would be an acceptable husband.

That and the insurance he'd firmly planted in her belly first.

But this was different. "You don't do relationships," Bart stepped in again, trying to address his son.

The dark eyed devil was visibly coveting her daughter with a hungry gaze and barely acknowledged that his father had even spoken.

"You're going to end up hurting her. Do you want to ruin your friendship?" Bart finally seemed to give up on his previous attempt and tried a slightly different approach. Eleanor silently applauded him, because if Chuck was actually misguided enough to believe he was in a relationship with Blair, then maybe his feelings could be used to break them apart.

For a moment it worked, the two of them seemed to stop and genuinely think. Not for long enough though. They stared into one another's eyes like star-crossed lovers and then shared a secretive smile.

She wanted to reach over and slap the both of them out of it.

"It's already ruined," Blair countered softly.

Their eyes were locked for the longest silence. Then that _boy _leaned in and softly kissed her only daughter.

Eleanor's eyes widened in disgusted surprise. Oh no, this was _not_ where Blair was headed. Diana Jones may have been Blair's great-grandmother, and she may have once risked everything by marrying Henry Astor only to have it end in their happily ever after, but no _way _was Blair, the descendant of so many great families, having anything to do with a _Bass!_

"Stop that," she clapped her hands, like they were disobedient animals rutting at the dining room table. "Immediately."

God if that boy touched her a second longer who knows what he could do. Eleanor felt like just a wanton look was powerful enough to make him the father of the next generation of Waldorfs.

"You realise you're just making this hotter, by making it forbidden?" the arrogant teenager drawled, never taking his lecherous eyes off her daughter. "If we wanted to we could just have sex at school. There's nothing you could do to stop us."

"Chuck!" Blair protested.

Apparently that one went too far, even for her.

"Stop it," his father had harshly cut him off at the same time.

Eleanor had moved beyond her disgust and now felt she was going to be sick. It was one thing to watch a notorious playboy leaving the apartment where your seventeen-year-old daughter was home alone of an evening. Quite another to hear it confirmed in plain English from said playboy's very own mouth.

Especially when her seventeen-year-old daughter flushed a hot pink and in that second looked the spitting image of her fiery great-grandmother. There was a photo taken just after grandpapa finished at Harvard, when they hadn't yet been engaged but she was twenty-one and embarrassed by knowledge no unwed lady should have. Add a cloche hat and parasol and Blair could be Diana Jones.


	6. Chapter 6

Bart wondered what the hell had gotten into his son. Chuck was disrespectful, callous, and more often than not, dangerously tempestuous.

But he never stood up for anything, or ever tried to defend himself. If someone punched him he stood there and took it. He planned quiet revenge later but he never fought back in the moment. Which simply amplified the worry that the father in Bart was genuinely feeling all the more. Chuck couldn't afford to be infatuated with an Upper East Side princess whose aspirations reached to social climbing at this stage in her young life. These were formative years and Chuck needed to be focused, dedicated. One day he would run Bass Industries and he needed to know what it was to be responsible.

"You're a grown man, start acting like one," he kept an edge of harshness in his voice because if he didn't, he'd be pleading and then he'd have no power over his boy at all. He needed to teach him how to be responsible.

Not to ruin one of his few friendships for the sake of a quick tumble.

Bart blamed himself, for his own bad example. For the failure to find even a single constant woman Chuck could emotionally latch onto in his formative years. The string of mother figures who'd paraded through their penthouses had mostly been simultaneously bedded by Jack and that hadn't made the situation any easier.

Blair was different. Blair he'd known since they were so small, someone his own age with his own mental capacity. Bart had seen their slightly antagonistic relationship continue while true friendship subtly blossomed and he hoped that in her, Chuck had found more of a sister. That from his non-physical friendship with her, he would one day be capable of having non-sexual relationships with other female compatriots. Because he was going to need it. Or he'd never survive his first sexual harassment lawsuit – and being a Bass the real world was likely to throw a few of those his way.

"Listen to yourself," he cleared his throat to berate, desperate to get across to his boy just how important it was that he start to grow up. Bart wished he could make this easier for him, that he could protect Chuck from the harshness of the real world but it just wasn't possible. "You need to be paying more attention to your grades and focusing on becoming a meaningful member of society. You can't be a drain on your trust fund forever."

He was meant for greater things. Bart truly believed that Chuck was capable, he was smart and quick and much more observant of the world around him than he let on. If only he would stand up and take charge of his own life!

Bart felt doubly responsible – not because of the staff he'd chosen to raise Chuck, but because of the failure to produce any competition. Growing up Bart had always had Jack – his bitter, upstart younger brother whose nasty pranks and constant tattling had led to genuine bad blood between them. While that brother had been a thorn in his side until he left school, the competition had been what drove Bart, what pushed him to be better, wiser, more crafty than his sibling. He'd eventually given Jack his own, lower, place in the company, just to show that he'd eventually won.

Chuck had no such competition. Chuck had a trust fund which bought him everything he ever wanted without even having to go to the trouble of asking for it. His life was consumed with idleness and self-satisfaction. He needed to learn that emptying that pool of money wouldn't buy him everything.

"I'm not draining my trust fund," Chuck disrespectfully rolled his eyes, completely sidestepping the issue and misinterpreting Bart's words.

He wanted to play this game? Fine.

"Really?" Bart batted back. "There was a rather large outlay to a jeweller recently. I've yet to see this new watch or diamond cufflinks to justify such a charge."

He'd meant to throw the purchase in his son's face, to highlight that he was still shallow and naïve to think thousands of dollars on a watch could buy him respect from people who met him. But the attempt backfired spectacularly. Instead of shame from Chuck, the two teenagers eyes were drawn to each other, like sparking magnets. Then Blair smiled secretively, her bright eyes sparkled and he saw her meaningfully squeeze Chuck's arm. A genuine smile slowly lifted Chuck's lips until he was beaming. In that moment when he leaned over to kiss the young girl for the second time at this dinner, Bart began to doubt the plan he and Eleanor had come up with.

It was a soft, chaste kiss that he was horrified to see. The kind he had bestowed on the mother of his child two decades before, and no one since. Bart had thought there could be nothing worse for Chuck than letting his smart mind go to waste on partying and destroying friendships for the sake of satisfying his dick.

It occurred to him that actually, there could be something far, far worse. To follow in his father's footsteps and let himself surrender to love. An image flashed up behind Bart's cool, blue eyes. Of the beautiful woman he still loved in his heart, whose whispered promises of love had been the last strains of her voice that he ever heard from her, even as Chuck's newborn whimpering had drowned them out.

Eleanor interrupted the soft longing that had stirred in Bart's heart with a sudden terrifying thought of her own. God he would never want for his son what had happened to him in those early days of fatherhood.

"Is this why you're not taking Prince Theodore to the ball anymore? You _two_ are going together? No, I absolutely forbid it," Eleanor struck out at Blair shrilly.

Bart's mind ticked over for a second. Cotillion? Why was that ringing a bell? Then he remembered that he and Chuck had come to an agreement about that particular ball. And Chuck was _not _taking Blair Waldorf as his date.

"You can't stop us," Blair shot back defiantly.

Clearly her mother's daughter.


	7. Chapter 7

There was nothing like a challenge to fire her passions up. Chuck hid his surprise flawlessly, determined to be her perfect goddamn gentleman. But it took everything he had to keep the unexpected excitement from beaming out of his eyes. If only he'd known he could play Blair's mother and end up with Blair going to Cotillion with him! Nathaniel's 'heart on the sleeve' ploy would have been imitation carob in a chocolate wonderland. And he would have slyly played that card a week ago. He filed the piece of information away for further use, now knowing that Eleanor played correctly could be a pawn in his quest for supremacy of Blair. Right now it didn't matter.

Right now he just had to keep from looking as downright smug as he felt.

Blair's hand came to rest on his own leg and squeezed. Hard – there was no doubt she meant it as a threat. He was already with her on this one though, and nothing she could do would upset him just now. Not even her nails digging into his skin. If they weren't under such close scrutiny he'd lean over and remind her how much he enjoyed her passion marks lingering in his skin.

As he met his own father's eyes he momentarily cowered at the seething disapproval. Bart never liked him but even this seemed extreme.

"Charles you are taking Eliza Barker to that dance. As _agreed_," he stressed, his eyes furious.

Chuck barely kept from shaking his head petulantly. Like hell he was – Blair had just said she was going with him! No way was a business deal getting in the way of that longed for pleasure. He did his best not to look too antagonistic, or grimace, for that matter.

Blair just stuck him with her sharp claws. Apparently Bart's announcement didn't sit well with her. Was it the revelation that Bart used his son as a player in his business? Why had she _thought _he was taking Eliza – that Chapin reject? Not everything was about his own enjoyment, when his father dictated that a deal could go sour, his only son was expected to do everything he could to salvage it. Including escort girls to parties. And anything else required to seal the deal.

Did Blair think she had an exclusive licence on him? Just because she made him feel effing fantastic and he spent most of his day at school _staring _at her?

He caressed Blair's leg one final time, gently, as a contrast to the stabbing pain she was inflicting on his thigh. To remind her that what they did was different, what they did when they were together wasn't something he could ever replicate to ensure Bass got hedge fund backing.

Then he let her go and moved back to his own lap, covering the hand she was digging into his fleshy muscle. With all his strength he subtly pried her angry fingers free. Once they weren't bruising him he affectionately slipped his palm beneath her, hoping it kept her from returning to torturing his leg. Then a moment later he carefully entwined her fingers with his own.

Now _that _he didn't do with anyone else.

"No," this was the first time in his life he'd stood up to his father and it was painfully difficult. No matter how badly Bart Bass wanted it, there would be no Eliza Barker. "I promised Blair."

Lie. She hadn't wanted to go with him until twenty seconds ago. But the moment the words left her lips he'd been set. With Blair he had to take every tiny chance he was offered and pounce on it lest she slip away from him.

"Nate only wanted to go with a _friend, _so he's taking Eliza," he conveniently made up on the spot. Quite ingenious though, to get both their rivals out of the way.

He hoped Blair would approve. And thank him later as only she could.

His fingers brushed the back of her hand. Blair didn't even tug away a little bit, despite his effective end to her plan of being escorted by his best friend. Instead she took a death grip on his hand that seemed to imply she'd never let go. And his heart almost exploded with joy.

Screw Bart. Screw Eleanor. Screw Prince Theodore and Serena and Nate. He was spending the night with Blair. Like on her birthday. Tonight. He could not wait until they were at school tomorrow or worse, after school in the limo. It had to be tonight. Soon.

He needed her – he needed to kiss her and feel her tugging him, undressing him, touching him.

He needed Blair. Because all of a sudden he had the feeling that he _had _Blair. His father and her mother had seen to that in the most spectacular of backfires.

He shot a quick glance at Eleanor's thunderous face and quickly began planning. The Waldorf penthouse was probably off limits for an amorous rendezvous, so it couldn't be exactly like her birthday. A glance at Bart told him his own suite was probably not a good choice either. No trouble, they would just get another suite at the Palace instead. He knew exactly how to play the front desk staff so his father couldn't find which room he was in. The almost-satisfaction of tasting her this afternoon was now not nearly enough and he hungered.

Blair suddenly stood up, far too quickly for him to release her hand and in that second their chaste affection was bared for all to see.


	8. Chapter 8

She'd had enough. The bombardment of disapproval from her remaining parent was far too much to bear. Add to that Chuck actually standing up to his Dad for the first time in his life, in defence of _her_.No, she could no longer sit here like they were having a pleasant dinner and take this! So she jumped to her feet, intending to leave in a spectacular adolescent storm out.

It didn't quite make sense why both her mother and Bart looked down, horrified, until she remembered she was holding Chuck's hand. She followed their eyes to where his long, surprisingly elegant fingers were twined so intimately with her own. The touch was comforting and made her heart skip little beats but that had been private up until now, something no one else had ever seen. She realised this probably disgusted Eleanor more than Chuck's sex declaration

Oh well, too late now.

She squeezed his warm hand reassuringly.

"I think we're done," she announced.

She gave a small tug and Chuck stood beside her. He knew his place very well – schemer, lover, and most of all _with _her.

"Sit down," Eleanor refused. "We've barely started entrees."

Blair's eyes widened. As if entrees were going to keep her here to be chastised for the next two hours. Chastised for doing something she finally enjoyed! For being with someone who _finally _wanted her! Who excited her like nothing else and kicked in her ability to desire which she hadn't even known she possessed!

"Chuck and I are going out," she dictated, narrowing her eyes at her mother pointedly. "_Don't _expect me back tonight."

She didn't have to look to her side to feel the glow of his wicked smirk. It was like the sun he was beaming so ferociously.

"Good evening Eleanor. Father," he farewelled, laced with the social nicety that was required.

Blair stalked to the coat closet, unaware she was still holding his hand until she went to slip into her Burberry trench. Then she tentatively slipped her fingers free. It immediately felt cold without the warmth of his skin tucked into her palm. Chuck could be annoying and disgusting and embarrassing, but at the moment he wasn't any of those things. He didn't say a word. Instead he caught her coat like a gentleman and lifted it onto her shoulders. She stood still, watching him wide-eyed as he straightened out her collar, then wordlessly slipped into his own jacket.

He didn't fill the moment with mindless chatter like Nate would have. He just grabbed his signature scarf, placed it around his neck then let her lead him into the elevator.

The doors closed out the noise of Bart angrily demanding "Get back here!"

The second they were alone the disaster of an evening really fell on her and Blair went for her stock standard response of blaming someone else. She turned on him angrily.

"I told you you should have left earlier!" she poked her index finger at his chest.

"Ow!" he complained, immediately reaching up and wrapping his hand around her finger.

"Why do you always insist on staying longer? I said five thirty for a reason," Blair was narrowing her most malicious glare at him. All he could do was smirk back, not the least bit ashamed that he hadn't been able to pry himself from her lips.

"Because _you_ are irresistible," he purred, excusing himself as he lifted the finger to his lips. "It's impossible to drag myself away."

Blair made sure to roll her eyes and make a decent attempt at not showing how secretly thrilled she was. He could see right through that façade while he slowly kissed the pads of her fingers. She may have thought she always wanted the perfect gentleman but Chuck was the first person to ever make her feel like a beautiful woman. He had a distinct knack for showing how irresistible she was with the smallest gestures, and she was powerful under his adoration.

When he'd finished kissing each tip their hands instinctively wove together once more and then lowered to their sides. She tried to hide her unstoppable smile by glaring at him again.

"We're going to the ball together now. You had _better _be well-behaved."

Chuck leaned forward and brushed his lips against her ear.

"Right up until the doors to the honeymoon suite close behind us at the end of the night," he promised. "After that when we're alone you don't want me to behave."

No, she silently agreed. She didn't want him to behave. She wanted him to be naked and highly aroused with his cock so obscenely rigid it brushed his belly. She wanted him to lave gentle kisses all over her until between her still young thighs that scarce wetness started to emerge, helping him ease himself into her narrow passage when the time came. She wanted that desperate elation of feeling his hardness go where it was supposed to and join him to her body.

She actually shivered. Uncontrollably. Did her very best to push down the moan that desperately wanted to escape her body as she imagined Chuck's big dick inside her like it always was these days. She turned her own head slightly, and before she could stop herself was giving it right back to him.

"Do you think you can wait that long?" she seductively murmured. "All. Evening?"

The satisfaction of seeing Chuck's eyelids flutter was all she needed. The elevator opened on the ground floor and she stepped off, entirely composed like a good girl who would soon be the belle of every ball she attended. With a small pull her companion trotted after her dotingly and they escaped out into the cool night air.

Blair looked left then right, confused by the completely empty street.

"Where's your limo?" she questioned him.

Chuck's gaze followed hers, then he groaned in realization. "I came with my Dad. Arthur already went home."

Blair worriedly looked up, towards her penthouse where no doubt her mother was already calling the elevator back up. They had two minutes, at most. And her nipples were back to being hard little points that longed for his fingers to slip beneath her shirt in search of her small eager breasts. A cab with its light on turned the corner at the end of the block. Without another thought she stuck her hand out to hail it.

"A taxi?" Chuck scoffed. "I don't think so."

Tough luck. She needed his touch before she embarrassed herself and came without it.

"Well you're welcome to return to dinner with Eleanor and Bart," Blair reminded him sharply.

Chuck looked at the bright yellow car that was pulling up before them, then back to the doorman waiting inside Blair's building. The decision clearly wasn't a hard one. Being berated by his father or beloved by Blair. He opened the door for his scheming princess that was blushing a rather excited shade of pink then climbed in after her.

"The Palace," Blair instructed.

"Daniel," Chuck overrode.

"What?" she turned to him.

"We didn't get dinner," he justified. "Remember when you didn't let Dorota feed me this afternoon? Then demanded my complete attention for two straight hours? I need to replenish my strength."

She rolled her eyes but conceded as he immediately made for her neck with his mouth. Touched his very soft lips to her susceptible throat and started kissing tenderly. It felt so amazing her eyelids started fluttering, her breathing shallowing noticeably. Then she caught sight of the vinyl roof of the taxi, and remembered they weren't alone in the back of his limousine.

"Not here," she hissed, pushing his face away.


	9. Chapter 9

Chuck held his face inches away, hovering while he glanced at the taxi driver, then back to her. As if a taxi driver of no consequence was going to keep him from her after the revelation he'd just had at their almost-dinner.

He liked Blair. He _really _liked Blair. And it turned out she really liked him.

"You were so hot up there, fighting with your mother," he cajoled, sliding his free hand onto her knee.

Were Arthur driving he'd cup her pert breasts because he could tell those babies were struggling to pop free of her shirt and his mouth was watering to take them. He could practically feel one of the hard little nubs between his teeth, rolling about gently in his trap while she breathlessly begged him for the decadent suckling she needed.

Instead they were in the back of a cab, and apparently that was out of bounds for making out. So her sweet breasts could perk themselves up and stay that way. He was going to tease her, without any satisfaction to end it.

Subtly he squeezed the other set of fingers he was still clasping. Then he slid his mouth back to the sweet spot under her ear where he knew she was vulnerable because he'd already spent _hours _studying her with his body.

He hoped she was thinking about when his cock lay between her thighs too. Those moments before they truly fit together and they just kissed teasingly.

Blair swallowed as his wicked tongue gently laved her, making her skin tingle with electricity that soon began to spark between them.

"You don't want to take this to your suite?" she wound her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer.

He watched her dark eyes blaze at him longingly and he almost gave in. Almost surrendered to the promise of her hands restraining his shoulders and her sweet thighs straddling his hips. Before he shook himself and remembered how spectacular her birthday night had been. And how he pictured them going even further tonight. Which meant he intended to last all night long and well into the morning.

"I want to be able to last beyond the first hour."

His hand slid onto her waist to pull her closer and his point was more than made.

"Fine," she gasped to the driver. "Daniel."

The drive to the restaurant was far too long and desperately lacking in privacy.

When he'd teased her earlier about being an accessory on Prince Theodore's arm, he hadn't quite had this ending in mind. Her, _Blair_, on his own arm.

He was very sure he didn't want to be a boyfriend. Because he didn't want to be the whipped pussy Nate was around Blair. What he _did _want was to be in a room full of their classmates, pull her into a corner, _kiss _her, and feel how eagerly she kissed him back. Revel in how hot their mouths were when they started making out. Have the freedom to put his hands on her whenever and wherever he damn well pleased – not between three and five thirty on weekdays in his limo or her apartment and nowhere else.

Walking into a restaurant sure to be full of Gossip Girl spies with Blair at his side felt like that day after Victrola all over again. Intense, somewhere between excitement and the physical sickness of food poisoning. He wasn't touching her – he didn't want to hold her hand or wrap his arm around her waist because those were things they did in private. Yet they were very close, he could feel her brushing against his sleeve every other step. When he held the door for her those incredibly dark, expressive eyes focused on him for longer than necessary and practically smouldered. He swallowed, watching her perfect ruby lips thank him.

He was so distracted, entranced, that before he could think he'd leaned over and kissed her. Blair gasped and her hands found his chest. He tensed, thinking she was going to push him away as she had earlier. Only to find her warm palms rested gently against his shirt and the heat permeated to his chest. Their previous secret encounters had never involved him restraining himself in any way. So he didn't even think to hold back. Despite being in public he just went with his instinct. Which was to slip his hands around her back and squeeze her into him.

Blair kissed him even harder, slid her tongue that still tasted like ginger ale over his bottom lip and made him _moan_.

"Mmm," Blair pulled away, smiling at him like a satisfied cat. "Sure you need to eat?"

He growled, leaned forward and nipped her retreating lips affectionately. Blair responded but he didn't let it become another kiss.

Instead he captured her hand and pulled her up by his side to the headwaiter.

"Two," he barely made eye contact as he handed over a hundred dollar bill to cover the lack of reservation. Hungrily caressing Blair's face with his gaze.

They followed the well-dressed manager to their table. Chuck made sure to pull Blair's chair out himself. Taking the opportunity to savour her intimately whispered "later tonight I'm going to punish you for making me wait," as she sat.

He smiled slowly. There was only one thing he enjoyed more than doing Blair. Blair doing him. In her bossy, take-charge, vindictive, creative way.

"I look forward to it. Will I need to find the key for the handcuffs?"

Blair's malevolent smile matched his own.

"Nothing so pedestrian."

They each took their menus and didn't pay an ounce of attention to the retreating adult who looked at the pair of impeccably clothed teenagers in shocked surprise.

"I'm intrigued Waldorf," Chuck accepted her challenge with an anticipatory glow in his eyes.

She was made for him. There was no other conclusion to be reached.

They both ordered mineral water, then Blair placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

"I'll need to see your suit for Cotillion," she laid down the first rule.

"I don't wear silver," he warned right off the bat

He watched her pink nails dig into the pristine white tablecloth.

"You _will _match my dress," she corrected. "How do you know I'm wearing silver?"

"I've _seen _your dress hanging in your closet," he revealed. "And we can't go in there matching like twins," he flat out refused. "There's a difference between looking good together and looking good."

Fashion. Her weak point – just where he could get her to agree with him.

"Well then what _are _you wearing?" she asked snidely.

"Classic black," he immediately reported. "Tails. White gloves. All impeccably tailored of course."

Blair eyed him warily.

"You'll look fuck hot on my arm."

Her hand shot out over the table and grabbed his tie near the neck, pulling him forward threateningly.

"I am not an accessory. You are there to make me look good or I go with Nate."

He reached up to his neck and tried to pry her fingers free. While she wasn't choking him exactly, the air supply did feel a little constricted for his liking.

"_Nate_," he practically spat his best friend's name "is the accessory. You'll look like everyone else. Is that what you want? To be one of the many?"

He had her there. He knew he did. Her beautiful brown eyes quirked, threatened and he could tell she probably thought that was a fate worse than death. Not being the shining star. With Blair he knew he risked losing her to his best friend's siren call. Luckily he also knew a full-proof remedy for that and though he didn't like to use it, he would do anything to secure Blair on his arm.

"Serena is always happy to step in as belle of the ball."

Bingo. Her face briefly screwed up like she'd just tasted a lemon. A beat passed and then she confirmed "_Classic _black. With tails. Bowtie is –"

"Pristine white," he assured.

"Hmmm," her approval was clear though she didn't want to let him win this one.

Their waiter appeared to take orders while she mulled over that.

"When we're at the top of the staircase," his hand grabbed hers just as she released her glass. "You _know _how good we'll look together."

It felt like he was begging her and he _hated _that. But at the same time there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

"Nate's skin tone has always made me look washed out," she sweetly conceded.

She looked down pointedly to where he was twisting his fingers with hers. Next to Nate's tanned blondeness she tended to look like a sickly shut-in. Chuck's natural paleness complemented her unblemished features, made them look like Renaissance European Royalty, framed by dark waves of perfectly arranged hair.

He ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist, a sensitive pulse point that responded gloriously to attention. Proving that he _knew _her.

"You should see how washed out Eliza Barker will look beside him," Chuck smirked. "Of course no one will be looking at her. They'll be looking at _you_. And me."

Blair grinned, and he congratulated himself. He could chalk this one up as a win. As soon as Blair fell asleep tonight he was calling down to the front desk and reserving the honeymoon suite. He was already quietly making plans when he backtracked in his thoughts.

When Blair fell asleep. She was actually going to spend the night. And he was going to make it worth her while so when she woke in the morning, tucked up in his arms, she didn't regret a thing.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_New York_

_1932_

"You should have married Penelope," Diana Astor whispered to her husband in the early light. No maid had come in to open their bedroom curtains because they couldn't afford a maid yet. The only house staff within their budget was the struggling cook and they would breakfast in the kitchen later, because the poor woman could no longer make it up the stairs.

Henry pressed himself up against the soft white cotton of her nightgown and yawned tiredly. "Why would I marry that harpy?" he played along, throwing his arm over her waist so he could thread their fingers together.

"You could have restored your fortune in one move. Her father would be coaxed into a much larger dowry."

She worried, about their future and what they would do.

"Mmmm," he buried his nose in the back of her neck. "What would be the point of a fortune if I didn't have you to share it with?"

"We will have to work," Diana swallowed the distasteful word. "Very Hard. It won't be easy for many years to come."

"No," he agreed quietly. "Not easy, but worthwhile. To wake like this for the rest of my life is all I could ask for."

"Well not exactly like this," she huffed.

Henry's hand crept free of hers and instead caressed her swollen stomach from behind.

"Yes," he decreed. "Exactly like this. With you, Diana Astor, full to the brim with all of my little Astors. We shall make one every year until there are so many mouths I will have no way to feed them all," he laughed.

"Henry don't joke," she softly begged. It was her greatest fear, that their little one would go hungry in their current state of poverty. Some nights she softly cried, so horribly distraught that the world her baby would enter was so different from the one she'd been born to herself.

His lips kissed her bare shoulder and snuggled her close into his arms.

"Don't worry Di," he whispered. "I will make it better. You will never regret marrying me. It will all come good in the end, you'll see."

**New York**

**2008**

When Blair was small, and imagined Cotillion, she'd never quite imagined it like this. Her beloved father not attending. Her distant mother leaving the country in a huff, days before. Nate Archibald escorting a random. Serena with someone from Brooklyn.

Of course she'd always planned to have the hottest guy in the room escort her. And in her fantasies he'd always been unable to take his eyes off her. They danced perfectly across the floor and attracted the attention of the entire room.

All those fantasies came true.

Not once, however, had the fantasy guy been Chuck Bass. She'd never predicted she would be holding his hand as they ascended to the honeymoon suite, lips slowly exploring one another. Her childish fantasies hadn't imagined decadent champagne, chilling in ice beside the fire. Or the length to which a strawberry with whipped cream on the end could be used to taunt a lothario high school junior. Even two months ago she could never have foreseen the very long, slow bout of what could only be called love making that dragged out well into the next day. The way Chuck's hands covered her skin and she touched his, like they _knew _each other.

Her mother had explicitly told Blair that this relationship with Chuck was going to destroy her reputation. But as he lay beside her in the rumpled sheets at dawn, staring at her with that adoration he was desperate to keep hidden, Blair realised something. That she was finally becoming her own, independent person. Who wasn't scared to admit that she was falling in love and it was scary and wonderful and she wasn't at all afraid.

She was growing into herself and so was the boy beside her. Which proved that Eleanor Waldorf and Bart Bass knew absolutely nothing.


End file.
